Anonymous Story: My Biggest Fear

Even today, I don’t think I fully comprehend what exactly happened to me, or what it means. After ten years I’m still unable to let myself process it. I know that I am the one in the way of my own recovery, but I don’t know if I have the strength to walk that road yet. I’ve made steps, but have gone nowhere compared to what is still ahead of me.

When I was seven years old my teenage cousin began to sexually assault me. He started with taunting me, telling me I wasn’t a girl and said he would only stop saying so if I showed him to prove it. After looking he began to touch. He even sometimes would have his younger brother, who was the same age as me join in and treated it as if he was teaching. Eventually there was intercourse, and once it escalated to that level it lasted about a years’ time.

Child sexual abuse is so confusing for the child because you look up to your elder family members for protection and when they use that against you, your young naïve trust is what lets it continue. Behind closed doors, when he could get me naked, I was his favorite. He would say nice things and make me feel special so he could convince me not only to do things that felt wrong but to keep my mouth shut as well.

During family functions when all his friends were around he would talk about how stupid, ugly, and fat I was, only to take it back as soon as no one was paying attention so he could slip me into my grandmother’s laundry room and hold me against the wall until he had finished. I remember once asking if he had pied in me not knowing what the strange liquid oozing from me was.

Even though he and I had a manipulated close relationship, his brother and I were closer, a relationship I miss. I remember feeling like my HE was jealous. Whenever I spent the night I would try to sleep next to the younger brother, but HE always made sure I was next to him. One of my first acts of defiance was during a sleep over when HE had made me sleep next to him. When he saw that everyone else was sleeping he grabbed my small hand and wrapped it around his penis. I took it away. He put it back and I took it away again. When we asked why I told it that touching down there made my hand smell funny.

As months went by the actions he was asking me to do become more and more uncomfortable and the feeling of wrongness grew. When I no longer accepted his sweet talk he switched to bribing me with his guitar, something no one but him ever touched. When he didn’t want to follow his promises, he switched to degrading me and making sure that I thought I was the one who would get in trouble if anyone knew. He made me feel in the wrong, a feeling I still somewhat carry.

The guilt and stress started to eat me alive. I began acting out in school and suffered from horrible stomach pains caused by stress. One night the pain was so horrible I got out of bed to tell my mother. She was calm and told me to go back to bed. My mother’s response felt odd to me but I felt such relief now that someone knew. The next night I told my father, (my parents were not together). This is a part or the story I have no memory of, but from what I have heard, his reaction was much different from my mothers. He is the one who got the ball rolling and started fighting for me.
When things eventually went to court I spilled everything to a small group of people in a large courtroom. Amongst the people, HE was there along with was his step-father. I remember seeing his step-fathers face change so much, from anger to disgust to disbelief, meanwhile all HE did was look down. Even after all my recounts, because there was a lack of physical proof and a judge I know have a slight grudge against, he was only sentenced to community service and because he was a minor, this will never show up on his record.

All of that I could have handled. I believe I could have been ok, but the way my family was afterward only made me feel more responsible for being a victim ad I was forced to suppress the feelings no one knew how to help me with. My father tried, but he kept his distance because he was afraid that a hug from him would hurt me.
My mother was busy being outcast by her family to really ask if I was ok. My mother’s side of the family resented me for years for speaking up. There was even a time where they weren’t speaking to my mother. I think the truth was too hard for them. Even after he admitted to some of the things I accused him of, they were willing to lie at court, not that they got the chance to. I feel that they look at me as a little girl who took “playing doctor” too seriously. Once talking did start again. The subject of what happened never came up, and I saw him every Christmas and thanksgiving I spent with my mother.

My sister acts as though nothing happened. Goes out drinking with him now. Shares posts on Facebook with him. Seeing him pop up on my “people you may know” was such a horrific feeling. She even set him up with her best friend. Her actions I try not to be upset with, but when they make no sense to me it’s hard not to carry around at least a little anger around in my heart.

For a very long time my feelings were buried so deep even I was unaware that they existed. It wasn’t until I was seventeen that my system got shocked so strongly it forced everything out. I was in a fight with my mom because she was insulting my dad on his short comings as a father when I said,
“Even if he has done things wrong at least he’s apologized, unlike your family.”
She responded, “What does any of my family have to apologize for.”
She later on said that I was never going to get an apology and needed to get over it. The realization of how she felt triggered so much anger for how little people thought of how I was hurting, how I was a victim. I began having flashbacks and memory recalls which lead to anxiety attacks and hands that would shake constantly. This subsided for the most part when I was eight-teen and able to move away. I am still unable to fully make peace with myself, though I have forgiven my family, including HIM. I harbor very little anger, it’s just mostly sadness.

My dream is to one-day message him and ask question upon question.
Do you regret it?
Do you feel guilty?
Are you sorry?

What I honestly seek most is validation, and words meaning that I am not the only one suffering, even though I know it’s a high possibility I am. I want to feel like I am not the one who was wrong and that sex is not something dirty. I want to be able to make love without feeling like I am disgusting. I fear going down the road to recovery because I fear the things I want, the things I need are unattainable, and I am not ready for my fear to be reality.

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